Let's Talk
by desperatelyobvious
Summary: Drenched in rainwater to the bone, I ran down the sidewalk as quickly as I could. All I cared about right now was getting home. I had just reached the bedroom when I saw him, standing by the doorframe in his dress shirt and tie with the tiniest of smiles on his face. Fang. "Hey," I breathed, feeling like I haven't seen him in forever. Maybe it had been forever. Fax. Oneshot.


**Hi guys :)**

What's this?! A new oneshot after nearly a year?! 8O

Why yes. Yes it is.

Another one of my backburner ideas when inspiration suddenly hit me (like a wrecking ball ehe ehehehe).

Special thanks to _SeaSaltChocolate_, who helped beta this baby for me. She's a freakin' lifesaver. Seriously, I don't know what I'd do without her.

But most importantly, I wanted to write and dedicate this to my Fanfiction bestie, _thestupidgenius1123_. I could go on and on about how great she is as a writer, and how she's an even greater friend. In fact, often times she believes in my writing more than I do myself, and this oneshot won't even suffice as a thank you. I hope you did great in your finals! **Happy Birthday, Mish :)**

**Note: **Set after _Fang_: _AMRN_, without Fang actually leaving the flock.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Maximum Ride…but I do own Jean Jean.

**Synopsis: **Drenched in rainwater to the bone, I ran down the sidewalk as quickly as I could. All I cared about right now was getting home. I had just reached the bedroom when I saw him, standing by the doorframe in his dress shirt and tie with the tiniest of smiles on his face. _Fang._ "Hey," I breathed, feeling like I haven't seen him in forever. Maybe it had been forever. Fax. Oneshot. For thestupidgenius1123.

* * *

I would've bothered with an umbrella if it were any other day, but at this point it didn't really matter. Drenched to the bone in rainwater, I ran down the sidewalk as quickly as my black pumps would let me. The water sloshing in my shoes only added to the fact that I looked like a newborn baby giraffe walking for the first time, but that was the least of my concerns. All I cared about right then was getting home from work on time.

The brownstone that I shared with Fang finally came into view, its façade a dull brick red with wide steps that led up to the oak door. It wasn't anything special, with narrow windows and very few plants decorating the exterior, but after living here for four years it was something that I could easily call home. I skidded for a few moments, almost missing the short flight of stairs, before I righted myself and took them two at a time. In the foyer, I removed my dripping wet coat and heels, dropping them on the floor to be dealt with another time; and then I was running up the stairs again, leaving a trail of droplets in my wake.

Without even pausing, I threw myself onto the bed once I reached the bedroom, soaking the fluffy comforters as I pulled my laptop off my bedside table. The icons had just finished loading on my desktop when I saw him, standing by the doorframe in his dress shirt and undone tie with the tiniest of smiles on his face.

"Hey," I breathed, feeling like I haven't seen him in forever. Maybe it had been forever.

"Hey," he greeted back, settling into a chair by the window that bathed him in light. He looked at me, really looked at me, for a second longer than usual before he commented, "You're wet."

"Way to state the obvious," I rolled my eyes, but sat up a bit to tie my hair into a bun. "But anyway, how was your day?" I asked naturally, as we always did every day.

I watched as he gave a non-committal shrug, a typical Fang response. "Well not much has happened, although my breakfast meeting was quite…interesting." His lip was quirked in the corner in amusement, as if he were recalling the events.

"Yeah, what happened?" I asked, moving from my position on the bed so I could see him better.

"Leonard and Jake were fighting about the cost of energy for the light bulbs, right on front of all the seniors. It was hilarious. The rest of the team and I let them go on for at least ten minutes before I got tired of their bickering and broke the news to them that the light bulbs were _solar-powered_." Fang's face was impassive as he told me this (what's new?), but I was silently laughing to myself, further soaking the bed as I lay back down on the sheets.

Fang and I, as well as the rest of the flock, were still brand ambassadors for the CSM, even after 12 years. I'm surprised they aren't already sick of our faces, but it was easier to get their message of 'going green' and 'saving the world' out there and known internationally when the face of their whole cause was someone who had saved the world. That _was_ a pretty big deal.

We often worked on missions together, which was the best part about our job since we all got to see and hang out with each other after going our separate ways, but sometimes we headed our own projects. Like Fang, for example.

Right now he was one of the heads for the project on solar-powered light bulbs. It was actually a very intensive project since the company foresaw the initial plans of the product up until its implementation in various cities worldwide. I've been doing some projects of my own as well, but none were as impressive as Fang's, and I was really proud that this was his first one without the help of the flock.

"Well surprise, surprise," I scoffed, staring up at the ceiling, "Fang, I'm pretty sure you'd be halfway done with the project by now if idiots like them weren't on the team."

"Hey, they're actually good salesmen," he said, "…and entertainment," he added, smirking. "Oh, and guess what?" Fang continued, "Jean strikes again."

At that, I was leaning up on one elbow to look back at him, already chuckling to myself. "Jean?" I said with a smile. "As in, _Jean Jean the Slut Queen_?"

"The one and only." He was smiling too.

Although Fang and I didn't work together due to the project, he never failed to tell me about all his colleagues and co-workers. I've never met any of them but I felt like I knew them from all the stories he'd tell me – this guy named Josh, who was his closest friend at work (but came a far third right after me and Iggy on the friendship scale); Celia and Beatrice, who liked to gossip and hang out in the pantry and _not _do their work; Frank and Alex, who always cowered at Fang's presence knowing who he was and just what he was capable of doing; and then there's late 30-something year old Jean, who liked to wear micromini skirts to work and flirt with just about any guy within a 30-meter radius. I'm pretty sure Fang's the only guy at work she hasn't pounced on (knowing that he was dating _me_) and the only reason they're keeping her around is because she was one of the co-heads of the project and was reallygood at her job. _Eugh._

"So what did she do this time?" I asked excitedly. If only I worked with Fang, I'd bring a tub of popcorn with me to work every day because of Jean.

"She wore another one of her short skirts to the meeting today and kept dropping her stuff on the floor to bend over. At one point, she dropped her pencil case and it took her at least five minutes to pick everything up." I laughed as he made a disgusted face, shuddering. "And the kicker? She was right next to Robert." Robert Thompson, as in 56-year old Robert, one of the board of directors of the Coalition to Stop the Madness along with my mom. "And I'm pretty sure she wasn't wearing normal underwear."

Okay, now I was in tears, developing abs from laughing so much. "_Seriously?_"

"As serious as a heart attack."

"I'm pretty sure she could've given him one!"

Fang was smiling as I continued to laugh. Although I couldn't see him clearly, partially because of the tears, I could still tell that he was actually smiling – teeth and all.

"But enough about _Jean Jean_," He rolled his eyes. "How was work?" he asked, shifting in his seat so that, for a moment, I couldn't see his face.

"Ugh, it was _crazy_," I groaned, sitting up too and crossing my legs like a kid. The dress I wore to work rode up my thighs as I got into a comfy position, but that didn't matter. It was _Fang_ I was talking to, and I doubt that he'd see something anyway. "They moved up the deadline for the November issue to this coming Wednesday, with no heads up whatsoever, so everyone's scrambling to finish their articles. And Frannie was talking shit the whole day about how stressed she was. She was all "_Oh my God, two days isn't enough for perfection!_" and "_How am I supposed to articulate my thoughts properly when everybody's so noisy!_" I mean, _hello,_ she's just writing one measly article on the Bitcoin exchange rate whereas I have three works in progress. _Total_ drama queen. Will even told her to write her article at the nearest Starbucks or something so the rest of us could actually do our work."

While I wasn't doing work for the CSM, I was a full-time staff writer for Time magazine. And I know what you're all thinking: "_Yeah right, Max. You could hardly write legible print when you were 14. What the hell are you doing, working for Time?_" While I'm not denying any of that, I guess writing my novels and finishing my studies kick started my whole career as a writer; not to mention that being Maximum Ride, savior of the freaking _world_, had a ton of perks and probably helped me land this job easily. I wrote about anything under the sun, but I mostly focused on anything that could spread awareness about global warming and the environment: dangers of pollution, climate change, the plight for endangered animals – you name it. Although I had already taken down Itex – the heart of practically everything evil in the world – 10 years ago, back when I was 16, saving the world is a continuous effort and I figured I could get the message out better through preaching it in a popular magazine.

"So, were you able to finish?" was all Fang said to my rant, though I knew he was listening.

"Almost done," I said proudly. "I plan to finish everything tomorrow so I can send it to the editors by late afternoon and have it given to layout by Monday."

"That's great. I can't wait to read what the great Maximum Ride has to say." He suddenly stretched, lifting both his arms above his head and cracking his neck, and again I couldn't see his face in those few seconds. "Will I be in any of them?" he asked, smirking when he looked back at me.

"Well aren't you full of yourself," I responded, leaning forward on my elbows so I was closer to him.

"If I recall correctly, you were the one who called me 'amazing' and 'perfect'," The sunlight streaming through the windows bathed him in golden light, shadowing certain angles of his face and shoulders as if God was actually making a point that he was a gift to the female population. Of course I still believed that he was amazing and perfect, but I wasn't going to tell him that.

"Jesus Christ, _get over it_," I said in exasperation. Fang whole-heartedly supported my career as a writer, but on occasion he would somehow find a way tease me about the books I wrote when I was 14. "That was like, 12 years ago, and I was trying to get a message across."

"That you loved me? Loved me _this_ much?" He extended an arm and smiled cheekily at me, bringing up the Valium incident from so long ago. Even now, when we've said we love each other so constantly, Fang always insists that that was the best love proclamation to date. _Ass._

"I'm gonna leave you," I threatened, beginning to uncross my legs and get up from bed.

"Okay, okay; I'll stop," he said, trying to fight the smile off his face. While I enjoyed the fact that Fang likes to show more emotions to me, even opening up a bit more to the flock, it was never fun at my expense. I rolled my eyes.

"_Anyway,_" I said with emphasis to change the topic, "Nudge called me this afternoon."

"Yeah? What'd she say?"

"Well, I was at work when she called me up and she asked me whether I preferred carnations or peonies. I honestly didn't see a difference when I researched on them, but then Nudge started giving me this whole lecture on their differences that lasted at least five minutes, so I tuned her out while I was working on-"

"Okaaay…where is this conversation going?" he asked, his eyebrows scrunching up in confusion. It was kind of adorable.

"Basically she was making me decide on a center piece," I said, exasperation in my voice and a pointed look on my face.

"Center piece for what?" He still looked confused.

I sighed, tucking my damp hair back behind my ears. "For the tables at the reception," I explained. "Fang, you gotta talk to the flock. Mom and the girls are planning everything for the wedding which isn't at least a year away."

"_Our_ wedding?" Was he seriously still confused?

"No, Jean Jean's wedding," I answered sarcastically, "Yes, _our_ wedding!"

As I was reminded that we were in fact engaged, I looked down at my ring finger on my left hand. My engagement ring was a silver band inlaid with tiny diamonds that surrounded my birthstone in the center; beautiful in its simplicity, making me smile even after all this time.

I could still remember the day he proposed, about 17 months ago. A week before that night, my promise ring – the one that Fang had given me for my 15th birthday – went missing and I was so upset I actually cried. I couldn't even bring myself to tell Fang that I'd somehow lost it (even though I wore it every day), and I was going crazy and driving Nudge crazy as well as we both looked for it and tried to trace back my steps of the last few days.

Then on the night he proposed, the two of us sitting back on the edge of a cliff after a date, I actually punched him _really_ hard on the shoulder when I took a good look at the ring and saw that it had the birthstone from my promise ring. He had incorporated it into the engagement ring; told me that there was no more need for promises when he and I could actually, finally start a life together. And then I punched him again, and hugged him, and told him yes, and kissed him hard, and in that moment I never wanted to let him go.

And next year we were finally getting married.

"I mean, not that I could plan one by myself, or that I even want to for that matter. I appreciate all the details that are going into it, but I at least want to have a say in some things."

For a moment, he doesn't say anything. "Like what?"

"Like… like the guest list! Apparently we're inviting around 500 people," I exclaimed with wide eyes, throwing my hands up. Now that I've said it out loud, 500 guests sounded terrifying. That was like the population of a small country or something.

"We don't even know 500 people."

"Exactly! But there are all these important people that they're taking into account – members of the CSM, CEOs, ambassadors of all these foundations, reporters, and all that jazz – when I just want an intimate, traditional wedding with just family and friends."

I didn't know how he wasn't as freaked as I was, looking down in thought as he tried to think of a solution. "Have you talked to them?" he asked.

"You think I haven't tried that already? They just think I'm being a total drama queen about it – which I'm _not_ – so maybe you could try to talk to them about it." I tried to sound casual about it, but even then he could tell that this was a favor. _Goddammit._

"And you think they're going to listen to me?" he questioned again, but now he was smirking; his crooked smile infuriatingly beautiful. I began to scratch my back in between and underneath my wings in annoyance as I glared at him, then started scratching my legs.

Although I was the voice of authority, Fang was the resident voice of reason. Everyone in the flock believed it; hell, even I did. They all must have thought he was the Psycho Whisperer: Max Ride edition because he was often the only one who could make me see sense about things. That was one of the things I appreciated about him – that Fang kept me grounded. He wasn't afraid to pick a fight with me or contradict my opinions. Still, I hated how I was sometimes immediately branded as unreasonable and irrational.

Predictably, my glare was ineffective. While he continued to smile at me that way; I wanted to wipe that stupid smirk off his face, even though I knew I obviously couldn't.

Instead, I settled for giving him a look. "Do you need me to say it?" By now I'd stopped scratching, but figured I should change out of my rain-drenched clothes. That was probably why I was itching so much. Sitting up straighter and reaching behind me, I began unzipping my dress.

Again, it takes him a while to respond, but eventually Fang laughs and concedes. "Fine, I'll call your mom later."

"Thank you," I breathed, scooting off the bed and shrugging out of my clothes. Completely naked, I kicked my pile of dirty clothes off the carpet and began rummaging through my drawer for new underwear, a comfy pair of shorts, and one of Fang's t-shirts. After dressing up and slipping my wings through the slits; I quickly wiped my make-up off in the bathroom and re-tied my hair into a messy bun as I walked back into our bedroom, jumping back into bed the moment I was done.

I knew I needed to take a shower; but after living on the run for so long and going weeks on end without taking baths, it wasn't _that_ gross for us. Besides, Fang and I had different schedules because of his job and I knew he would be leaving soon. Even though I saw him every day, we hardly had enough time to ourselves, so there was no time to waste.

"Nice shirt," Fang commented as I lay back down on the bed, bringing my laptop with me. He stood up from his seat, and for a moment my heart dropped thinking that he was going back to work. But he stayed, even moving closer to me and I looked deep into his eyes.

"You sure that was the only 'nice' thing?" I raised an eyebrow, teasing him.

I expected some sort of perverted comment (that I totally brought upon myself) from Fang, waiting for the punchline, but he only continued to look at me; and he wasn't looking at anything other than my face.

I imagined he saw rough skin and scars – all my imperfections. As a bird kid on the run, there were some things that never completely faded, both psychologically and physically. The dark circles under my eyes never completely faded, no matter how much sleep I finally caught up on; and my lips were constantly chapped, a natural genetic trait from my mom. I had scars, lots of them: from broken glass, split skin, Eraser's claws and the likes. And my skin was accustomed to rough winds and conditions, my cheeks no longer baby smooth as other people my age.

I wish I could say I wasn't so conscious about my looks; I wish it didn't matter so much, but it did. Contrary to what others may think, I still had the XX chromosome and a part of me hoped that I at least looked decent.

But the way Fang looked at me made all my self-doubt disappear.

He was my best friend, he was going to be my husband, and I believed that he was going to be my soulmate through every lifetime. He had seen me through everything, and I had nothing to hide from him. I had nothing to be ashamed about because he saw something beautiful inside of me before I even saw it myself.

The way Fang looked at me made me feel like I was the most beautiful girl in the world, and I guess that was all that mattered. He was the only man that I wanted to impress, and even then I didn't need to. He'd said that I would always be interesting to him, and that he'd always be interested in me. And often times I'd wonder what I did to deserve him.

We didn't talk for a while, but it wasn't uncomfortable. I just looked back at him, taking in his features.

Gone were his boyish looks; replaced by features older, more angular. His hair was cut much shorter than when he was 14, slightly undercut; and he was clean shaven for work today, even though he was often lazy to shave and usually sported a five o'clock shadow on long weekends. He moved closer and I copied his movements, our faces now seemingly inches apart. I traced what I could of the side of his face, down his jaw; but I couldn't feel him.

We were both marked, damaged. Tiny white scars marred his face, a reminder of our past. One ran along his temple that cut through his left eyebrow, dangerously close to his eye; a smaller one on the bridge of his nose. His beautiful deep brown eyes never left mine, watching me watch him. Most people believe that there's this haunted look in his dark eyes, an intimidating kind of sorrow from so much loss. I think we both, if not all of us in the flock, have it. I guess that's why there's so much mixed gossip of girls either infatuated with him, or afraid of him.

But only the people closest to him, the people who know him could see that he's neither of those. He's not broken, or angst-ridden, or emotionless like I used to convince myself he was.

He was just Fang.

And he was so unbelievably perfect to me, inside and out.

"I miss you," I blurted out, dropping my hand.

He laughed and gave me a small smile, getting up. "I see you every day."

"Fang, you know that's not enough."

"I'm here now." His eyes were soft, his voice tender.

"No, not really. Not where I want you," I whispered.

Shifting onto my back with my wings spread out on either side of me on the bed, I balanced the laptop better on my thighs and watched as Fang started walking around his office, the view shaky now on the small window on my computer screen. I didn't know why Fang was using his phone, as opposed to the desktop he'd often use when calling me, but a video call was a video call and I'd take anything as long as I get to see and talk to him.

"Fang, how much longer are you going to stay there? It's already been six months," I couldn't help but whine a bit. From where he was standing now, I could see outside his floor-to-ceiling office windows where there were even more concrete buildings and a bright, sunny skyline.

"You know it's killing me to be away from you, but I promise I'll be home soon," he said before placing his phone on his bookshelf at an angle so he could work on redoing his tie while talking to me.

"Next month, or I'm flying there myself and kicking your ass all the way back to America." My voice was jokingly stern, but it wasn't as if I couldn't actually do it. Although Sydney was about 21 hours from New York by plane, I could easily get there in half the time without any breaks. It was as simple as riding on an air current and pacing my strength. The flock and I have flown to many other countries before.

"I'm looking forward to it," he laughed, rolling his eyes. As he finished tightening the knot and looked back at me, he breathed, "God, I miss you."

They were words in passing. We always told one another that we missed each other – and to an extent _of course_ we did – but it wasn't a gut-wrenching pain in my stomach like it used to be when we were kids. My world didn't fall apart or any of that intense stuff you always see in the books and movies. The reality was that we were 26; and though sometimes we'd be apart, maybe even for long, indefinite periods of time; we knew that we'd always come back to each other eventually.

We were each other's home.

I was about to remind him of his lunch today with one of his colleagues, when instead a yawn escaped my lips.

"Oh, I'm sorry for holding you up. You must be really tired. Have you had dinner?" He'd already picked up his phone again and was moving to put on his suit, his voice filled with concern.

I nodded, rubbing my eyes. "Yeah, I ate with Lucy at the office. I'm sorry; it was just a really long day," I said. "Anyway, don't you have that lunch with Jamie?"

"Yeah, I'm meeting him at Denver's in," He checked his watch. "about 30 minutes. Knowing you, you should get some sleep," he said, trying to gauge my fatigue. His worry for me had me beaming. "…after your typical one-hour shower."

I stuck my tongue out at him, sitting up from bed and pulling my bunned hair out of the elastic. My stringy damp hair fell in wet clumps as I stood up and leaned forwards towards the webcam. "Go to your lunch with Jamie; I've got a date with the tub anyway," I joked.

He raised an eyebrow. "Should I be jealous?"

"Yes."

And then he leaned in close to his camera as well, so all I could see was his face. "Good night, Max," he said, teasingly.

I smiled. "Good morning, Fang."

I was about to end the call, cursor poised over the 'End Call' button when I called out, "Wait!"

He'd been about to end the call too, looking back up at me through some of the hair falling into his eyes. I stared for a second too long at him, but I didn't feel a need to memorize his face.

I knew what he looked like, and I'd see the same eyes and hear the same voice again tomorrow. I just forgot something important, even though he already knew it.

"Yeah?"

"Love you."

"I love you too."

We ended the call at the same time, and then I was alone again in our apartment.

_fin._

* * *

**I hope you guys liked it :)** Some of the dialogue may have been long and boring, but I really hope that you got the message I was trying to get across.

Most of my stories and oneshots revolve around a passionate relationship with the need for physical contact at all times; but I also love a relationship that is true and steadfast, and transcends the test of time and distance. They may not be able to talk to each other every day and they haven't seen each other face-to-face in months, but there is no love lost.

In addition, Max and Fang may be engaged, but they're best friends first. JP had always emphasized how they talked all the time, just the two of them, and it's just wonderful to see that they have never and will never get tired of what the other person has to say. That after spending almost their entire lives together, there's always something new to learn about each other.

**Please review and tell me what you guys think! **

Yours,

.: Tiffany :.


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